


The Beech

by sunaddicted



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blueberries, Father-Son Relationship, Muffins, Oropher is a cool and goofy Ada, Other, Sad and Sweet, young!Thranduil is an hyperactive menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He liked beeches, he found them strong and wise” Thranduil recollected [...] “I always was fonder of oaks”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beech

_The Beech_

Thranduil wasn't startled when Legolas sat beside him, resting his back against the smooth and ancient bark of the beech and discarded his bow on the luscious grass, next to his antlered crown embellished with rust-colored leaves and small white flowers. He greeted him with a warm smile – the icy-blue eyes melting with love for his son – and tenderly caressed his cheek, thumb swiping away a smudge of dirt from his pale skin “You always manage to find me”

Legolas shrugged and tucked his head in the hollow between his Ada's neck and shoulder, immediately relishing in the comforting feeling of those long fingers carding through his hair “You're always here when you need to think” he offered as an explanation, his voice apologetic for having disturbed him “What’s bothering you?” he asked, hoping to bring peace to that troubled mind.

The Elvenking sighed and dropped a kiss on his son’s forehead “I’m just missing Atar”

The younger Elf hummed “It makes sense that you would come here to feel him closer to you” Legolas looked up at his Ada with irises the same color of sapphires – they were still blue, but it was a shade that better agreed with his more passionate disposition “Oropher, tall beech-tree” Legolas couldn’t really say if his Atar truly was tall, since he had been only an elfling when he had been slaughtered in the Battle of Dagorlad – if he was honest, he really couldn’t say anything about him: his memories were old and fuzzy, more legend than reality. He vaguely remembered snow-white and wavy hair, framing soft and likeable features; eyes of silver, shining like starlight; warm and strong embraces, drowning him in the soothing scent of pure water and fertile soil.

“He liked beeches, he found them strong and wise” Thranduil recollected, his free palm caressing the trunk behind him. Oropher had often taken his hands and made him touch the trees and encouraged him to feel life thrumming under his fingers, to appreciate its strength and mesmerizing rhythm; it was only thanks to that exercises that he had managed to enchant Mirkwood, tying his soul to it in order to protect his home and his people “I always was fonder of oaks”

“Tell me about him? If it doesn’t hurt too much” Legolas pleaded, cuddling closer to his Ada’s broader frame and breathing in the spicy tang of wine and cinnamon that always clung to his luxurious robes.

Thranduil puckered his lips, tapping them with his index finger while he wracked his mind in search of a good story to tell to his son “He taught me how to bake blue-berry muffins once”

Legolas shook his head and smirked “Really? And you never made me some?”

“I didn't say I managed to prepare something edible”

* * *

 

Oropher hid his grin behind a hand when he felt someone climbing up his leg, agile and elegant like a squirrel, while his advisors were boringly droning on some reports. Stealthily, he peered under the table and his gaze immediately met otherworldly big blue eyes, shining with childish glee and his smile brightened.

Thranduil muffled a giggle in his robes and dropped a kiss on his stomach before curling in his lap like an oversized cat, quietly listening to the council while Oropher petted his hair and redid the braids that had come loose after a morning spent running and wreaking havoc all around the palace: his son was a little menace, his sharp mind always planning some new mischief.

When the elfling started chewing on a strand of his hair and kick him restlessly in the bladder, Oropher was glad that the council was almost finished and hoped that his son would restrain himself for a few more minutes. In the vain attempt to calm him, he started rubbing his tiny stockinged feet and calves just like he used to do when he had been a fussy newborn – his efforts were rewarded with a vicious tug at his hair and a pout. It was one of those days, then; Thranduil was an hyperactive child, but sometimes he seemed to leech the energy off of the people surrounding him: if Oropher wanted to have some rest that night, he needed to find some activity that would tire him out.

His advisors finally quietened and, after thanking them for their work with a grateful smile, he excused them from the room.

As soon as he heard those words, Thranduil climbed on the table and sat in front of him, still needing to crane his neck back a little to watch his Ada in the face. He held out his arms and was immediately scooped up and cuddled against a warm and protective chest, white hair draping over him like a veil “I missed you” he whimpered, rubbing a chubby cheek against the soft shirt.

Oropher got up and quickly strode out of the room, aiming for the private garden attached to their chambers “Me too, ion-nin. What did you do this morning?” Nothing too bad, probably: nobody had come to tell him that the kitchens were on fire or that his son had abducted another baby-deer and hid it in the weaponry.

“I listened a bit to the history lesson but I got bored and decided to go out to pick new flowers for your crown” Thranduil admitted proudly, not even a bit ashamed for having once again disappeared in the middle of tutoring “They are pretty: yellow and purple” he added as if he had heard the other’s thoughts and felt the need to justify his actions.

The Elvenking kissed the top of his head and put him down “Thank you, mela en' coiamin” Oropher looked around himself in search of something to do and his eyes were enthralled by juicy blue fruits hiding amidst the foliage “Why don’t you pick some blueberries, ion-nin?”

Thranduil squinted up at him “Why, Ada?”

“We could bake some blueberry muffins” he suggested “You like them, don’t you?” He recalled his son devouring an entire plate for breakfast, leaving to him all the boring plain ones.

Thranduil nodded enthusiastically and, without another word, he run in the garden to gather as many blueberries as possible. Oropher sat on the grass to watch him contentedly, mock-scolding him when he caught him wiping the berries’ juice away from his mouth and enjoying the gentle caress of the sunrays on his pale skin while the spring breeze whispered melodies in his ears; it was a rare occurrence that he managed to spend a whole afternoon relaxing with his son – even if most of his people would agree that spending time with the elfling wasn’t a definition of resting.

Once Thranduil presented him a filled basket, they made their way to the kitchens amidst amused glances and vaguely exasperated faces. Upon hearing their intentions, some of the Elves working in the kitchens paled considerably; Oropher sympathized with them, slowly beginning to regret having had that idea: he could barely imagine the chaos his son could do with some flour and butter – and he was conveniently avoiding thinking about the dangerous messes he would come up to with the oven. Maybe he was still in time to redirect the activities of that afternoon to something quieter…

Then Thranduil smiled toothily at him “So, where do we begin Ada?”

They were so screwed…

* * *

 

“You put the muffins on fire?” Legolas asked in between chocked laughter.

Thranduil scowled “I thought it was okay to put them directly on the flame. How was I supposed to know they needed to be on a plate?” Oropher had said him to put the disgusting-looking globs of batter and blueberries in the oven without farther instructions, too focused on some sticky concoction drying on his hair: he should have known better than to let him put the muffins in the oven.

Legolas bumped him in the shoulder “And what did you do? Threw a tantrum while you watched them burn?”

“No, I cried myself to sleep after burning my hands in a vain attempt to save them from the arson” he admitted, flushing red with embarassement.

“This is too precious” Legolas cried loudly “Wait until Tauriel hears of this!”

**Author's Note:**

> I was craving more father-son relationship cuteness


End file.
